


Monsters

by nanjcsy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: DEAL WITH IT, Multi, also using things that i assume could have happened book or tv..its my brain, dammit i will find a way to add Hodor to something, using both book version and tv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanjcsy/pseuds/nanjcsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by another work, this sort of spilled from my head.  A small look at some of those caught in the war, how sometimes, you can become a monster out of necessity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destruction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [briancap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/briancap/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Unthinkable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753921) by [briancap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/briancap/pseuds/briancap). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon Greyjoy, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark/Joffrey Lannister, Roose Bolton/Robb Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy  
> Tyrion Lannister/Tywin Lannister/Shae, Petyr Baelish/Lysa Arryn/Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon

Theon could not get rid of the smell, he bathed, he sniffed bottles of cologne, even broke one of Sansa's old perfume bottles from the Queen.  He lets the glass crunch under his feet, the scent of flowers overwhelmed the room.  All Theon could smell were burning boys.

 

Arya watched the man die at her feet. The Hound was teaching her how to kill.  Someday she will kill him for the butcher boy.  Her Needle seemed to be an extension of her arm now, it felt good.  Seeing the life leak out of eyes, that felt good, as did the blood covering her hands.  With each name she crossed off her list, she only felt a moment of relief before new names seemed to be added.  That was fine.  It would feel good to bring her God sacrifices.  Her family knelt at a tree, they had spoken of seven Gods.  They were all dead, their Gods did nothing.  Death, that was real, it was inevitable and Arya was a Hand, like her father was.  Except, he was Hand of a King.  Arya was the Hand of Death. 

 

Sansa stood at the edge.  Joffrey, her true love, her to be husband, and she wanted him to die.  Above her head, Sansa could see her father's head rotting on a spike.  This was how Joffrey courted her, with pain and death.  A small step closer, to the laughing boy king, the cruel, handsome boy who will become a raging tyrant of a man.  Another step closer.  Sansa who loved lemon cakes, dancing and pretty dresses, pictured how Joffrey's head will smash unto the ground beneath her.  One more step, an outstretched arm and then a large hand on her shoulder.  "Someday I will kill him.  I will see him die at my feet.  He will die before me."

 

Roose put the knife into Robb's heart and whispered to him as gently as a lover.  It was the stupid wolf's fault, Roose had been loyal.  He followed Robb, counseled him, fought this war for him.  Did Robb ever respect Roose Bolton or even the Northern men who were dying for them?  No, Robb was blinded by love, blinded by hate and deaf to all else.  What else could Roose do?  Warden of the North had such a nice ring to it.  Let the Lannisters win, let the Freys take the notoriety for such a heinous crime.  The Boltons will take the North and who needs the title of king anyway?  He twisted the knife and fought not to grin, afraid he would look like his son for a moment.

 

Ramsay watched Theon scream, hanging off the wooden cross.  He enjoys taunting the arrogant Lord, but there is more he wants.  He does not want to hunt him or kill him, even though he could.  No, for a while now, Ramsay has been having an urge.  Assessing the groveling traitor, Ramsay knew this man would be the one he will sate those urges with.  To create something, something that will be his, he can train this Lord into a tame beast.  Stepping closer again, his nose wrinkled at the stink.  He wondered how Theon could stand to have that smell in his nose.

 

Tyrion sat in the crate, hearing the boat creaking.  It was dark but all Tyrion could see was Shae, cold and dead, her eyes, those scheming eyes, flat.  All he could see was his father, dying on the privy, still with that look of disgust and hate.  The shock on Tyywin's face that his imp son could kill him was so fleeting, it brought no pleasure.  In fact, Tyrion felt nothing at all.  He should, he should feel bad that he killed his father, it should hurt that he killed Shae.  But the only thing Tyrion felt was a need for wine. 

 

Petyr watched as his new wife got smaller and her screams fainter.  He could not actually see her splatter onto the rocks, but he smiled thinking of it.  He could almost feel Sansa nearby, her shock making her gasp.  But he has seen into her eyes, and she is not afraid of murder, not anymore.  He thought of Cat, the one woman he could have loved, been content with.  Yet deep down, he knew even that was a lie.  He lied, he schemed and climbed higher, over ashes and bones.  Cat had been honest and honorable.  It never would have worked and it pains him to know it.  However, Sansa looks so much like her mother, but her upbringing was in Kings Landing.  Sansa barely had time to be a girl before she was flung into being a Lady.  Joffrey and and his mother have taught Sansa about how to play the game.  Petyr will be her mentor now.  Sansa was not Cat, she can lie, can deceive and it will be a matter of time before she will murder.  Petyr decides it is not betraying Cat to love her daughter.

 

Stannis sat in his chair, trying not to think.  Staring at the fire, wishing he never received the letter from Ned Stark.  That he had never met the Red Woman.  Right now, his brother was dying, Stannis wished he could not think of it.  Would Renly scream, would he think of his brother, know his brother was killing him?  How many will burn before Stannis is on the Iron Throne?  He wished he could feel more and stared into the fire, looking for whatever the witch sees.

 

 


	2. Atrocities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reek/Jeyne Poole, Melisandre, Qyburn, Shae, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister/Joffrey Lannister

Reek helped Jeyne into the tub and began to very gently wash the blood off her.  He washed the flesh he has helped bruise and cut.  Without looking at her, Reek washed the part of her that he himself violated with his tongue, his hands and the handle of a whip.  Jeyne wept then and she wept now.  He wanted to apologize to her, he wanted to tell her that it will get better.  If she could just please Ramsay, be good for him.  That was a lie and they both knew it.  Their Master did not abide any lies but his own.  So Reek washed the fragile girl while she trembled, trembling almost as much as Reek does.  This evening Reek would be called upon again to amuse Ramsay.  And if he was ordered to, Reek will hurt Jeyne more.  So it was pointless really, to say sorry. 

 

Melisandre loved everything about these sacrifices.  The smells, the screams, most of all the knowledge that her God put her above others.  These men, stupid men, when she was a slave, she learned all she ever needed to know of men.  No depravity was enough for them, vows and promises meant nothing to them.  Becoming a priestess was almost harder than being a slave, but she never failed.  Now men look to her, listen to her, would never dare to act the beast now.  Stupid men, all of them like cows, sheep and she herded them.  A little powder, a deeper voice and some death, watch them all crumble, all burn for her Lord, the beasts.  Then came Stannis, she hated him too, but he has surprised her.   It seemed as she was tricking him, he somehow tricked her.  Honor was real to him, truth was all important and ruthless yes, but ruthless with purpose.  Stannis really believed he was King, he would mete out justice and that Melisandre was his honest counsel.  His weak sickly wife was hers now, even Davos had no choice but to bow to her, even if begrudgingly. The little girl was a problem, Shireen haunted Melisandre's dreams and her eyes, it was almost as if she could see through the fire of her soul.  Nevertheless, Stannis loved that little girl and the God of Light will claim anything he wants of the beasts of men.

 

Qyburn stood over the Mountain, watching bad blood come out and new blood go in.  The excitement he felt upon meeting Jaime Lannister while at Harrenhal was still sweet in his mouth.  As he had dug into the rotted, bloody flesh of the man's stump, how he had roared, it was priceless.  What was better was even though he knew, he KNEW that Jaime had seen the look, that look that made others cringe, in spite of it, Jaime did not judge.  He did not agree that not only should Qyburn have lost his chains, but should be banished as well.  He saw how Qyburn was not afraid to take risks, that he had so much to offer, would do things no maester would do, the cowards.  Meeting the Queen Regent was his best day, a woman that had power, who offered him a chance to gain power himself.  No more squealing peasants crying tales of his experiments, no, he was protected by the royal family.  This man, lying before him, this Gregor, his name unimportant really, what he will become that is important.  He will be the first, Qyburn knew he was a man, not a God, but if he can raise this man again, well, who could deny his power then?

 

Shae had a sweet voice and an even sweeter tongue.  She called the imp "her lion" and she told him they could run away together, far away.  Tyrion had fallen in love with her, she was almost sure of this.  The problem was, though she was fond of him, even fonder of the new life she has, her capacity for love was shrunk down on her ninth birthday.  Her mother had given her to a brothel and many men liked a young child for pleasure.  Shae knew how talented she was, Gods know, enough men grunted that fact over her for years.  She wondered idly if Tyrion ever had gotten enough balls to leave his family as she had suggested, would she have truly done it?  Could she live with this sad dwarf, as a wife?  Well, he was talented and she knew he would always keep her well.  However, she has seen Tywin, the father that had the most hated children in the land.  He hated them, they hated him and the people hated all of them as they bowed. Shae wondered what the price would be for sleeping with him?

 

Cersei could feel her dead son's hand brush against her hair.  She tried to tell Jaime how wrong this was, to fuck under the body of their son, he would not listen.  As her brother thrust himself between her thighs, as the tears streamed down her cheeks, she whispered her son's name.  Joffrey, his name was Joffrey, a son, a king and the most horrible person ever to be given power.  Yet she loved him, since the day she counted his tiny toes and smelled his sweet breath.  Her husband Robert was a drunken lech and she despised him as he did her.  Jaime was kept busy, they had time to fuck quickly in shadows, but he was not really hers.  Only Joffrey, who smiled and watched her as if there was nothing else in the world, but her.  Oh, what sweet memories as she bit her lip and moaned under Jaime.  Her son grew up and away from her into a monster, about to live under the influence of another.  How dare anyone else think they understood her son?  Cersei could understand jealousy, rage, hate and the joy of having another killed.  She is not an innocent, but some of the things Joffrey did shocked her.  Now he is gone, her boy, her first son and only she has any tears for it.  Even that is not enough, as her brother fucks her, as her dead son's hand touches her head, Cersei climaxes hard, so sweet, it hurts and oh, her first son is gone.


	3. Ruthless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn Stark/Jon Snow Meera Reed/Jojen Reed/ Brandon Stark, The Hound/Arya Stark, Sansa Stark/Petyr Baelish

Cat heard yelling and sounds that always follow little boys at play.  She walked past the squirming youth, giggling and hollering, then heard a thump.  A wail of pain brought Cat running, thinking Robb might be injured.  However, she saw that it was the other one, Jon that was lying on the ground, bleeding.  Sniffing, head thrust upwards, Cat turned to walk away.  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Jon lunged up and pulled Robb down.  The two boys flailed in the mud for a moment, then Jon swung, hitting Robb in the back.  Without a single thought, she ran, knocking boys out of her way mindlessly.  Hollering her son's name, she reaches down, grabs the loathsome son of her husband and yanks.  Pulling him up, with an arm strong from carrying children, wet laundry, wood and more, Cat swung.  Her hand struck against Jon's face, but her thumb knuckle hit into the temple.  With a fearsome silence, the young boy flew for a brief second almost, then fell limp to the earth.  A line of blood from his head slowly mixed with the blood that Robb had caused breaking Jon's nose a few minutes ago.  Cat stood frozen, staring down at the unconscious boy.  Robb stood up, crying and asked if Jon was dead.  Saying nothing, Cat walked away.  Because yes, yes, oh please let that bastard be dead.  And Cat knew she was cursed.

 

Meera stared at her hands,at the blood.  The little girl meant nothing to her, she did not care about any three eyed fucking birds.  How about someone explaining why my brother's blood is on my hands?  I was to protect him, I was always with him, for him, and what am I now?  A kinslayer.  Alone.  Did he know, did Jojen know?  Had he told their father before they left, is that why he wept?  His goal, his quest was to guide Bran here, so mission accomplished.  So what gave him the right to make her not just witness his death, but kill him?  How dare he just die, leaving her remembering how it felt to slit her own brother's throat?  To be honest, somewhere along the way it no longer was just following her brother.  At some point it became about Bran too.  What she felt about him was mixed up, did she want to help him save them all, or did she just want him to hold her?  Now, she turned her gaze from her hands to Bran, creeping through bones.  Her eyes were not loving nor kind right now, no.  With an icy stare, she looked at Bran, her hands wearing Jojen's blood.  She thought, you had better be worth it.

 

Arya was trying to practice a flip she had seen someone do with a sword.  Over and over, sometimes pricking herself and swearing.  The Hound was not given the gift of patience by the Gods.  About the tenth time he was almost hit by her Needle, he was ready to stick it up that brat's ass.  "Knock it the fuck off!  You don't need to flip your sword to kill!  Do you want to give a dance or kill?"  Arya sneered at him, muttered about him knowing nothing and continued her cursed flipping.  Fueled by frustration and the entire wineskin he managed to steal earlier, Sandor got up.  By the time Arya realized that he was coming at her, it was too late. She tried to stab him but his hand came too fast.  Her needle flew out of her hand and she was flat, staring way, way up at him.  Not really thinking now, angry and determined that this little girl grow the fuck up, Sandor landed flat on her.  Lucky for her, I am not wearing armor, she'd be dead, he thought.  Arya was relearning how to breathe and could not react but to stare at him.  He ripped open her vest, then her shirt, growling at her.  One knee forced her legs apart and he thrust himself against her.  By now, Arya could whimper and slam her hands against him.  When she tried to gouge out his eyes, bite his face and scream, Sandor simply put one large hand over her face.  He pressed the back of her head into the dirt.  Leaning down so she could hear him, Sandor growled, "I could rape you, beat you and slit you from cunt to throat.  Your flipping, dancing and Needle cannot save you from that."  He flung himself away from her and stood up.  Arya lay there, stunned and fighting tears.  "You are right, you act like no lady.  But if you keep acting like the little girl, you won't live long.  Grow the fuck up."

 

Sansa was glad that all of her tears were only for performing, acting.  Otherwise, Petyr would know how much she wanted to squirm out of his grip.  He was touching her everywhere, licking her everywhere and she wanted to gag.  This was not rape, no, this was seduction.  She had invited him to her room on the pretense of discussing their traveling plans, but she knew what would occur.  It did not matter if she were awkward or a little resistant, after all, she was a virgin, a Lady and unmarried.  So Petyr was gentle as he led her to the bed, he spoke reassuringly to her and promised never to hurt her.  This was a lie, but that did not matter, after all, it was all a game.  He taught her that, and this was just her next move.  Wrapping her arms around him, allowing a small scared whimper to emerge, Sansa enjoyed a small moment of power as he instantly became concerned.  After she prettily assured him that she was just overwhelmed, he made sure that when he entered her, it was not very painful.  As Petyr thrust into her and muttered her mother's name, Sansa thought of throwing him out of the moon door.  The next thrust and she thought of poisoning him, watching him slowly seize.  After all, she had missed seeing all of Joffrey's end and she felt cheated.  When Petyr came to his lost love's image, Sansa thought of slitting his throat the way her mother was killed and she smiled up at him.


	4. Harsh Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery Tyrell/Cersei Lannister, Gilly Craster/Sam Tarly/Sam Craster, Selyse Baratheon/Shireen Baratheon,Cersei Lannister/Oberyn Martell/Jaime Lannister/Elia Martell

Margaery continued to wiggle the string for Ser Pounce, much to Tommen's delight.  Keeping a smile that was a mix of maternal and minx on her face, she was aware that Cersei was staring.  That was fine, how can the woman complain when she herself suggested the betrothal?  Ever since she was a child, Margaery wanted to be the Queen of Seven Kingdoms.  Her beloved grandmother Olenna had told her she would be and that was that.  Olenna, what a powerful name for a powerful woman and Margaery wanted to be powerful like her.  There was a dark point where Margaery wondered if she were cursed, or just deadly to kings.  However each of them died, it had nothing to do with her and being royal was risky after all.  She was going to be an excellent queen, she would own the hearts of the people and unlike with Joffrey, innocent golden Tommen, will win their hearts too.

Was Cersei truly worried about her son or was her vanity so much that she was really worried for herself?  Margaery looked at the fading regal beauty and saw every etched line. Every pinched muscle, every sagging that was beginning to show.  Those eyes when no one seemed to notice, filled with pain, hatred and something heartrending yet steel.  Such a strong woman, for someone who complained she could not fight because she was a woman....Margaery could be almost sure that most murders in Kings Landing could be laid at the Queen's door.  If ever allowed to speak honestly to the Queen, something that was never going to happen, she would surprise her.  True, Margaery would rule with compassion and receive the love of her subjects.  Cersei ruled with fear and received the contempt of her subjects.  Yet, Margaery knew if she asked Cersei if all she had to go through was worth it, the answer would be yes.  So what Margaery will never say to Cersei is, we are alike, the same way you are like my grandmother.  There is no heartache, no thing too risky, no price too high to pay for the power over men.  Someday, Margaery hopes to have lines of suffering as deep as Cersei's and a voice as worn as her grandmother's.  Because that would mean she had risen above all.

 

Gilly sat in the storeroom, holding a frozen lamb leg, half wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it all.  There was some fancy Lord hiding in the corner, three times her size, yet she alone stood, ready to beat cannibals to death with a leg of lamb.  Sam was out there somewhere, fighting, but as much as she cared for him, Gilly was shielding her son.   Of course, that was not all she was doing, no, she was mentally preparing again.  This would be the fourth time she has prepared to murder her son if need be.  Sam would never be told and Gilly was quite sure only another mother could possibly understand, not a man.  When she knew Craster was going to give her son to the Gods, she knew she would defy even Gods for her son.  Fully expecting Craster to kill her for the insult, Gilly had prepared to smother her baby boy.  Humming a soothing tune, Gilly was about to put the little blanket over her boy's face when Sam had burst in to save them. 

When the night of the crows happened, when all the tree branches were lined in inky blackness, it almost happened again.  No white walker was going to ever touch her son, not while she had breathe left to prevent it.  As the Walker had approached her, her hands had turned in such a way, a way to break a small baby's neck.  Luckily, Sam managed to kill the Walker, and Gilly's fingers ached for a week.  After Sam had panicked and sent her to the tavern, Gilly heard the Wildlings calling.  Grabbing her son, climbing to an abandoned hall, to a dusty closet, Gilly had her hand ready to smother.  She knew what Thenn's could do and they would not hurt her baby, not while she lived to protect him.  A ginger haired girl showed mercy, and Gilly watched blood pour from the ceiling, listening to her son's tiny breaths.  So here she was again, at least this time she had a weapon of sorts. More importantly, she was strong enough, loved her son enough, that Gilly would kill him herself if need be.  She waited to see who would come through the door, and her fingers ached.

 

Selyse Baratheon always had two wishes and both seemed to be thwarted.  She wanted to be a good wife and a good mother.  Instead, her husband was a cold king that barely seemed to tolerate her presence.  As for a mother, she produced dead son's and one live daughter.  That she hates and fears.  She is even jealous of her, almost as much as she was disgusted by her.  Stannis would rather spend an evening with Shireen than his own wife.  Then again, Selyse would rather pray over her dead son's than be near her daughter.  Shireen did not understand about religion, politics and nor should she, yet it seemed every word from her mouth was heretical or wrong sided.  The greyscale was a medical condition according to the Maester's, even the Red Woman confirms this, yet Selyse knew it was evil.  Maybe it is a test of her faith, or was it a punishment for a crime she has forgotten?  Selyse fantasized about putting this quarrelsome, creepy child into the fires.  Would it hurt to hear her own flesh and blood scream?  No, it would be wonderful to see Shireen's soul go to R'hollor.   Shaking off her lovely dream, Selyse, leaned down to give her daughter a tiny kiss, almost touching her hair with her dry lips.  "Good night, daughter.  Be safe."

 

There was a small group of hushed older children, surrounding the bassinet.  Two of the children were golden and lovely, the other two were dark skinned and handsome.  The pretty golden girl pulled the blanket off of the squirming baby and in a spiteful tone announced, "Here is the little monster! The demon monkey baby!"  Oberyn Martell and his sister looked carefully, but it was just a little ball of pink, like all babies.  "The head is a little large, the limbs a bit too small, but Cersei, this is just a baby."  "Oh, no, he is a monster.  He killed my mother and I hope he dies soon."  With eyes that sparkled with hatred, she stared at him.  Elia gasped when Cersei reached into the bassinet and pinched down on the tiny rosebud between the baby's legs.  Oberyn turned his sister away from the sight of the girl pinching so hard.  The wailing of the baby was hideous and just before he was about to yell at this terrible girl, Jaime intervened.  "Stop now, Cersei."  Only then did she release the baby, breathing heavy.  As Oberyn led his sister away, the acoustics of the room floated back her words.  "It is not the baby that is the monster in the room."


	5. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister/Brienne/Cersie, Ros/Joffrey Lannister Brienne of Tarth/Lady Stoneheart/Podrick

Jaime was haunted and that was that.  No amount of wine, sex, or work could change it.  It did not matter where he was or what he was doing, the ghosts followed him.  As children, his siblings and the other children that were royal fosters would try and scare each other.  They would go to areas that were supposedly haunted to try and find ghosts and then scare each other silly.  Jaime never actually saw a ghost and he still did not see them now.  It was voices, whispers and echoes of so many that would not let him find any rest or peace.  Some of the voices belonged to the now dead, others were still alive somewhere, but their voices had remained with him.

_"A forty year old man with one hand.  How could you possibly protect me?"  "You aren't really going to stay in the Kings Guard, are you?   When I needed you, you were not here.  You are too late now."  "All my life I have heard Jaime Lannister, the greatest swordsman.  I beat you and I am a woman.  Maybe folks just like to overpraise a famous name.  Why did you save me, help me?  You made a sacred promise, keep it and I will consider the debt payed.  I will find Sansa and keep her safe.  I will keep the vow, for Lady Catelyn and for you."  "A toast then, to the proud Lannister children, the imp, the cripple and the mother of madness!"  "This is goodbye then.  I don't think we shall ever see each other again."_

Jaime leaned back in his chair, his golden hand resting on his knee.  His other hand clutched two messages, crushing them as the voices overwhelmed him.  He sat in his father's chair, in his father's house.  Oh, how much he had hated his father, almost as much as he hated this room, this home that never really felt like his.  The damn messages, one for each direction.  His sister, damned Cersie whom he had loved and hated so much.  She casts him out then calls him back when she needs him.  The message was a frantic cry for help.  Kings Landing has finally turned against her and she was held by the Septas for heresy and harlotry.  Did she really believe that after knowing how many others she had fucked, that he would return to save her?  The other message was from the one other woman he ever felt anything for.  Brienne also requests his help.  She has found the girls, but needs him to help in their recovery.  The message was short and had little detail to it.  That did not surprise him though.  Brienne was not known for politics or smooth words.  She was honest, honorable and arrogant.  He felt that Brienne was the female version of what he himself had wished to be, but failed at.  Jaime could not remain here at Casterly Rock, that was certain.  But which woman should he travel to?  Which way should he take?  The sweet poisonous sister, the only woman he has ever slept with, had children with and loved?  Or the female behemoth that fascinated and irritated him beyond measure?  Would either direction help him stop the ghosts or at least give him some honor to add to that cursed page in the book of White Cloaks?

 

Ros took a shuddering breath then screamed as another arrow found its mark.  Her hands bound above her head, blood pouring from her body, so much blood.  Joffrey stood before her, his crossbow aimed, ready to fire again.  Since she was little, Ros had known how to pleasure men, to use them for what she needed.  Fondly, she recalled some of her favorites, as she tasted blood in her mouth and felt her heart beating a little weaker.  Of course there was Theon Greyjoy, oh, what an arrogant, handsome jackoff he was.  He paid well, and when he was in the mood, he could actually bring her to orgasm.  Most times he just selfishly took his pleasure but he always paid her well, so she couldn't complain.  What she remembered the most of him was his eyes.  He had lovely blue eyes that looked so sad when he drank too much.  Ros would try and fuck the sadness out of him, but it always returned.  When she told Theon she was leaving for Kings Landing that sadness was back, but his words were pure arrogance of course.

Another bolt and she only had strength to whimper.  Her other favorite client was Tyrion, the little imp.  He may have been a stunted man, a drunkard, but he was very funny and surprisingly a very good lay.  Tyrion's tongue was magic, with words and with her cunt.  His eyes were brown but as sad as Theon's were.  Why did she attract sad men?  Then Kings Landing and into the hands of Petyr Baelish.  He had hard cold eyes, he never touched her once, but he taught her plenty.  Oh, how happy she was when he chose her to be his assistant and Ros began to believe that whoring could be something she had done in the past.  However, she was foolish, spying for the enemy against him.  This was not the first time she had faced Joffrey.  The first time she was summoned to pleasure the new king, she was excited, what an honor.  It was not, it was a nightmare and to this day, it haunted her.  Forced to beat and cut up her own friend, for the little sadistic brat.  Now this would be the last time she served the king.  His crotch bulged, the handsome face was twisted with lust but Joffrey did not want her to fuck him, no.  However, he was certainly fucking her.  As another of his arrows plunged, this time into her heart, Joffrey finally reached a hand into his breeches.  Breathing hard, he grasped his cock and masturbated to the sight of Ros dying.

 

Brienne stared hard at the ground, at her feet, at the trees around her.  She had faced down many things in her life so far.  Her father, when he told her she could not be a fighter.  Countless boys then men that wanted to tame her.  Bolton men that tried to rape her.  Jaime Lannister who fought her and saved her.  Brienne has faced even the Hound and took him down.  Never once had she backed down from a fight.  Never has Brienne shied away from the eyes of another, until now.  As the woman who used to be Lady Catelyn Stark pierced her with dead angry eyes, Brienne could not meet her gaze.  She could hear the creak of the rope and the thud of boots as Podrick's lifeless body swung from a tree.  The wind made a mockery of the boy who was a good squire and the mere fact that the one they call Lady Stoneheart had ordered the death of this innocent, proved she was no longer the woman Brienne had followed.  Yet the vow had been made and was not kept.  The horrid buzzing voice came again and called for Brienne to bring Jaime for an accounting.  The one man Brienne loved and she was commanded to bring him to his death.  And all she could do was nod and look hard at the ground.

 


	6. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb Stark.

The Young Wolf enjoyed his new name as much as being called the King of the North.  Of course, he acted humble, as humble as his father had been as a Warden.  Yet, he would remember the gleam in his father's eyes. He could hear the pride and yes, maybe a tiny touch of gloating when he was talking in private.  What is wrong with a small amount of pride when it is deserved?  They were honest, they were bound to a strict code that was set for them and it was followed.  The North had no time for courtly politics like the South but it had its own rules and courtesies.  Robb was a protector, as the Starks always had been, for justice, for truth and if they were truly honest, it was for the family.  But that was a Lannister thing to say, but thinking it, that was maybe a Stark thing too.

Which is why no matter how much his mother tormented Jon Snow, Robb would only comfort his brother after his mother was gone.  Why he would never defend Jon in front of anyone that would repeat it to his mother.  He liked Jon well enough, but he watched his father and as always, learned from him.  When Catelyn would beat or punish Jon for an infraction, Ned would walk away, only seeing to Jon later in private.  Theon, Robb's foster brother or really, a Stark hostage, was another matter.  Robb enjoyed Theon for the most part, but that grin was annoying.  Also, Robb hated anyone beating him at anything, even though he always showed good sportsmanship.  Theon could shoot an arrow better than anyone and better than Robb himself.  Worse was he was arrogant about it.

So Robb found it a certain joy to remind Theon at every moment that he was a hostage.  When they were young, he would tell tales to Theon of all the men Ice has beheaded, just to watch him pale.  One time, his father came in silently, listened to his son while watching Theon turning paler and paler.  One clearing of the throat, Theon jumped and actually ran out of the room in terror.  Robb would have found it funny if his father were not coming at him with a belt.  After the blistering of his arse, Robb listened as his father explained why taunting could cause future dire consequences.  That was one lesson that Robb still has trouble with, until he received that letter from Roose Bolton about Winterfell.  Only then did the lesson hit home in his mind.

On the night that Robb married, he was not thinking of his father then.  He was deaf to his mother, how dare she even try to lecture him?  Why should a King not marry where he wishes?  On the night he killed Lord Karstark, he was thinking of his father.  He thought of how a man tried to babble about White Walkers, yet his father still cut off the head.  The reasons do not matter, just the justice.  The night Roose planted a knife in his chest, the night his wife was cut open, his child cut through, Robb thought of Jon.  He wondered if he had been more supportive, a better brother, would Jon have not left for the Wall?  Would he have been here to stop Robb from the mistakes?  If Robb had given Theon a reason to stay, would he have been here to defend him?  Too late, the lessons hit home in his heart, along with a knife.


	7. Seething

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey/Ros Dany/Jorah

Joffrey loved the feeling of the crossbow, the weight of it.  The screaming and begging of the whore was pretty nice too.  But the anger surged through him, frustration, resentment and it came out with every arrow.  Each time the arrow met its mark and made blood trickle it was a little better, but never quite enough.  His uncle imp, that freakish embarrassment they had to call a Lannister!  How dare he ever hit or call Joffrey a name!  Look at that twisted little half man, daring to call himself a Hand of the King??!!!!  Then he sends whores, as if Joffrey is anything like that!  As if Joffrey is a drunkard and a lech like him?  So the first few bolts were for his uncle Tyrion, oh yes, he only wished instead of a whore, it were actually the imp tied as a target!  This was one of the two whores Tyrion had sent him before...he wishes he could have her body dumped on Tyrion's doorstep!  But his grandfather would not stand for it, but he will deal with him too.  Eventually.

The whore is named Ros, but she has brilliant red hair which reminds him of Sansa.  That is two more arrows, that stupid, cowering, traitorous bitch!  How dare she think she would ever be his queen after what her father did.  Though deep down, way down past the anger, he knows the truth.  The day she watched him with Arya and the sword, that was when he began to hate her.  It was intolerable that she had seen that of a prince, a king!  Her damned little sister, so here is another arrow for Arya, whom he hopes, prays, that she has died a hideous death!  Starks, oh he despises the very name and here is another arrow for Rob Stark, another for Ned Stark!  Ros is getting very quiet now and so pale, it is rather lovely actually.  He is hard now and squirms a bit in his seat.  NO, even in death, he will not come to a whore.  He is not the imp nor is he his father.  And there is another deep down thought that he hates, so one more well placed bolt. The whore is dying or dead now.  Joffrey will have her removed. Then after his room is cleansed, he will use his hand to think of his hate and that is sweeter than anything.

 

 

Jorah was on his fourth ale and he could not get drunk.  No matter how hard he tried, even to fill this black hole inside him with ale, it would not work.  Oh, how he wished he could be angry, furious with her..Khaleesi, he called her.  Until she told him to never speak that name to her again, never to touch her again.  It would have been better if she had just killed him, rather than leave him this devastated shell.  She never did understand his deep love for her.  He was sent to spy on a weak little girl and her spoiled crazy brother and watched Dany turn into a Queen.  He HELPED make her that queen!  Yet even then, she was Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons and he always counseled her against rash actions.  She was, after all a Targaryen and it is in her nature to rain fire and destruction.  Who will counsel her from that now?  He must find a way to get back to her, a way to make her listen to him.  His Khaleesi was his world now, where else should he go?  It is like losing air and she has to just listen, let him explain.  Jorah turned his head and saw something that made him grimly smile.  Tyrion Lannister cannot truly disguise himself and as Jorah stood up, thinking of the perfect gift to make his Khaleesi listen, he looked for a brief second, like a bear.


	8. Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow/Ygritte, Hodor

Jon held Ygritte close, closer yet, as if trying to make them into one person.  It was an uneasy mix from the start, they had found a way to force their jagged pieces together into fitting.  Whenever Jon thought of her, his senses filled up with everything about her.  Smells of earth, her own musk, how she tasted of honey and sweat.  The rich fire hair of hers, so thick and he loved to rope it around his wrist, slowly pull her to him.  Her trilling sounds, sarcasm, laughter, always directed at him and even that, her constant teasing, it was the greatest of sounds.  What lovesick fools they were, deluding themselves, but those sharp pieces did fit for some time, even as they were cutting themselves on doubt.  They ignored it, denied it and tricked only themselves, really. 

She had said they should stay loyal to each other, they could make their own choices.  If he had taken her away to a village, some remote port, Ygritte would have followed him there.  It would have been difficult for her, it may not have worked out but they could have tried it.  He already has broken some vows, after all.  Blame it on his upbringing then.  Starks had honor, they kept vows and promises.  Jon was not a Stark, but his father was and raised him with the same expectations as his other children.  So even though Jon could have run away with the person, the only woman that has ever looked at him like this.  Like he was someone worthy of love, of respect and consideration.  But honor and vows sucked at the best moments and it was a slow poison in his heart. 

Jon held Ygritte so close now that they could be one.  Her blood seeped into his clothing and he pressed further, her flesh growing colder in spite of his warmth.  They could have lived a simple, boring life somewhere with children.  Jon can almost picture Ygritte in a dress, threatening to hit him for touching it.  He laughed or cried and thought of honor.  Honor created bitter lines and hateful thoughts for Cat Stark.  Honor cost Jon's father his head.  Now it causes the only woman he has ever loved to die in his arms, as his enemy.  Ygritte would have followed him, they could have lived boring lives and she would have loved to own a dress.  Honor cost him the same coin it seemed to cost his whole family.  Pressing the body to him, Jon thought, Oh, Ygritte, you were right...I knew nothing.

 

Hodor loved to be helpful, be useful.  He loved Bran very much, carrying and dragging Bran never bothers him.  It was better before, at home before bad things and they left.  But at home, sometimes, sometimes he was alone, not needed and no one really wanted him, ever.  Here he was always needed, someone always had a reason to speak to him, smile at him even.  Bran NEEDED him, not like the others.  If the others die, he will be sad, it is sad but Bran doesn't NEED them like Hodor.  Only Hodor can take Bran places but more important, he can TAKE Bran places.  Hodor hates it, oh HATES HATES it, scary very not hurting, but it confuses and Bran needs that.  Every time it feels like trees and dirt, feathers, loud screeching birds with beaks that can poke eyes..it is snarling wolves and the taste of blood, it's bitter anger towards a bad man.  It is hateful rage for his useless legs, feelings, things Hodor does not understand and does not want to.  But he loves Bran and it is being needed, wanted.  So Hodor will carry Bran both inside and out as long as the boy gives that smile and says his name.


	9. Foreshadowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nannies of Westeros. Don't question, just read it.  
> Samwell, Stark children, Theon and Asha Greyjoy, Oberyn Martell

All over the seven kingdoms, in spite of amazing differences, they all everywhere had one common thing.  Nobility had nannies to raise their children for them, regardless of where they lived, they all had nannies.  They were all remembered as old, as strict teachers, a painful whack administered just at the right moment.  As the one person who seemed to always know what mischief would be had.  She was also the person who taught them about play and imagination.  Using stories was a great way to do that and kept the little ones quiet.  With shining eyes, children would crowd close to hear tales that they would dream of later.

 In the Tarly household, young Samwell clutches at his bedsheets as the old woman softly speaks of White Walkers.  Of ice and cold seeming to have created these hellish creatures that were once men.  She assured him that no one can kill a Walker, or survive them.  Samwell began to cry unable to hold the tears back at such a scary thought as facing a White Walker.  Just as the fat tears came rolling down his already chubby cheeks, his father walked in the room.  The disgust on his face was almost as fearful to Samwell as a icy corpse coming for him.

At the Greyjoy home, two small children sit side by side, listening to a one eyed old thrall.  She was using her creaky yet deep voice to boom out terrible tales of cannibals that love to dine on young flesh.  When the servant sees that the little boy is utterly terrified, she smiles with some malice.  A slave is not the most loving of nannies, this woman bears no love for either of her charges.  Her favorite thing to do is tell them stories that will give them no rest.  She feels nothing but contempt for them, even when she sees the abuse their father offers them.  So her stories always went beyond what most sensible folks would have said to a child.  Asha had round eyes and her brother was weeping now.  If their father ever saw that, so she hits him hard on the shoulder.  "Stop the tears or no more stories, Theon!"  yelled Asha, already used to bossing her weak idiot brother around now.  One time, it was a stormy day, the children could not go out for any play.  To make matters worse, the older brothers were home and causing all sorts of mayhem.  Theon ran to hide in his room and there was his nanny, stealing a nap in a rocking chair.  He woke her and asked for some stories.  Snorting and gasping, she pulled herself together, then indicated for Theon to sit at her feet.  "How about a really scary tale?  Ah..how about of this.....a family well known throughout the North, Theon...they skin their victims alive.  Flay them not just for torture or death, but for amusement.  This is the story of House Bolton..."  Theon did not sleep well for three months and did not know why.

Old Nan settled all the Stark children around her and counted them lovingly.  She even softly added Jon's name, after making sure Lady Stark was gone, causing the solemn boy to smile a bit.  "Gather around, all here, my lambs..there we are now.  Let us do a good story to while away this very boring rain, shall we?"  Eagerly, the children listened to tales of humans that could enter the bodies of animals.  How they could see and feel the same things the animal did.  She also talked of the Children of the Forest, the magic of long dead warriors.  The fire of long dead dragons.  Bran kept asking her to repeat the stories of humans entering animals, and about the forest dwellers from so long ago.  She would chuckle and remind him none of it was actually real.  He always looked back at her in a way that made her inexplicably sad then say, "I think they are real.  I think I am going to find out someday."

Oberyn felt yet another fire spot where the belt licked at his buttocks.  He refused to cry or even make a sound.  His nanny had just given him the biggest embarrassment of his entire life up until this day.  He will never forgive her.  Oberyn had been after this maid for weeks now, he finally had gotten her in an alcove. Ready to relieve himself of virginity, the young couple was blind and deaf to all else but their bodies.  They did not even notice that their panting and moaning was loud enough to be heard down the hall.  It was as the nanny was walking his sister back from a music class.  She heard the scandalous noise and hurried the girl away.  Coming back without the girl, but with a rather heavy strap, she opened the door and hell descended.  Making both of them lay side by side on the bed, bare buttocks up, the nanny whipped them both soundly.  They never looked at each other again, but both moved on to other targets.  Oberyn was very mad at his nanny for a long time.  Then one day, she ran her fingers through his hair as he sullenly looked away.  "Someday, you will discover there are times when you can indulge all you want..then there are times, where your thoughts and eyes will be on a girl...and that is dangerous.  You will be a fighter, a simple second distraction of a pretty face can get you killed."  Oberyn snorted and thought, "One more year then I can get away from this bag of bones and her dreadful strap.  She babbles stupid things.  How can a pretty face get one killed?  He was the best, or will be soon, no one will kill him.  Certainly not because he was looking at a woman, trying to impress her, instead of paying attention to danger.  He would never be that stupid.  Stupid nanny.


End file.
